


Officer's Orders

by Ariel Rose (thatchaoticart)



Series: An Officer and a President [1]
Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatchaoticart/pseuds/Ariel%20Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What REALLY should've happened in 2x15, "Boom Goes the Dynamite."  So, so much UST over this jealousy.  Absolutely shamelessly explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Officer's Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoMiddleGround](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMiddleGround/gifts).



“I’m your commander-in-chief.  It’s ‘Mr. President’, and I need an answer.”

 

“Mr. President,” Jake shakes his head, finally, “there is no guy.  She’s not seeing anyone.”

 

\--

 

Fitz fixes him with a stare and finally, after an agonizingly long moment, steps closer to Jake.  He drains the last of his drink and sets the empty glass back onto the tray with a loud clank, stopping just in front of the other man.  His hand drifts up to smooth down Jake's left jacket lapel before he dips his fingers under it, thumb on top of the fabric.

 

"Mr. President..." Jake's voice comes out thick and rough, but instead of pushing Fitz away he closes his fingers around the bottom of his patterned tie.

 

Fitz drops his hand to trace his thumb in circles around the top right button of Jake’s jacket, the newly polished gold now smeared from his finger.  Without warning, he yanks the button off with a decisive _snap!_ , and Jake feels his blood rush through him in anger and something else, something deeper that stirred the second he’d seen the president again.  Those memories kept in a locked safe, stored away, now laid out on the table like a battle plan, heavy in the air between them.

 

“Captain Ballard,” Fitz’s voice is gravelly. “It seems to me you’re out of regulation.”

 

Jake says nothing, lines at the corners of his green eyes crinkled in a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his lips.  He moves his own hand up the line of Fitz’s tie, fingers slipping over the small designs against the grain of the fabric.  His movements are slow and deliberate; he’s all too aware of blue eyes on him.  He dips his fingers under the knot and pulls so that it slides loose, but doesn’t finish the job as he moves to undo the top two buttons on the president’s dress shirt.

 

“And it seems to me you’re isolated, Mr. President,” Jake finally murmurs, breath hot against Fitz’s collarbones. “I don’t believe for a second that you forgot what that’s like.”

 

He dips his head to trace his tongue along Fitz’s jawline, relishing in the following sigh.  He doesn’t give Fitz a chance to speak, though, and a soft single laugh rolls out of him as he moves his mouth to press a kiss into the dip between his collarbones.

 

“Tell me, is that why you _really_ called me here?  To color outside the lines with you?”

 

Fitz groans and his hand slides into Jake’s hair, fingers curling around the short strands.

 

“Stop talking,” he says in that same low voice.

 

His eyes are clouded over with something Jake can’t read, something that darkens his gaze in a way he hasn’t seen before.  Olivia Pope, if he has to guess, but before the conversation can continue, Fitz crushes his mouth to his.

 

All the practiced decorum falls away as their hands frantically fumble for the buttons on their respective jackets, the golden one of Jake’s clattering to the floor.  He’s already undone Fitz’s dress shirt by the time Fitz loosens and pulls off his tie and jacket finally.

 

“You’re aware we’re being watched,” Jake groans as Fitz’s hips roll against his insistently; a shock runs through him as Fitz lowers his mouth to tongue and suck at Jake’s nipple.   _He never did waste any time_ , he thinks wryly (when his brain isn’t busy short-circuiting).

 

“You’re aware I have the authority to eliminate that problem,” he straightens and drags his thumb over Jake’s bottom lip, still slick from him. “I’ve got it covered.”  (He had, in fact, confirmed Tom would be the agent to review that night’s tapes, and knows if anyone can keep a secret, it’s Tom.)

 

Jake isn’t worried because he knows Fitz is a person who can cover his ass when needed.  (Most importantly he knows that while Fitz can pretend he’s in love with Olivia all he wants, there’s only one other person in the world who knows the truth--knows that the way Fitz’s hands tug at his clothes and push through his hair can mean a million different things and it’s the exact touch that will let Jake know what it is Fitz needs.

 

Once he finds it he can meet him and show him the way back, over and over.  They know it means something _so_ different from anything they’ve known before or since.)

 

Fitz’s skin is mostly smooth under Jake’s fingers--some scars here and there but nothing to compare to his own--and touching him like this brings back flashes of long nights during the war, conversations about things he’d never envisioned voicing to anyone, the rush of adrenaline coursing through them in battle and when they were together like this.  They’d always connected, always felt the pull of each other’s crackling energy like magnetic force fields drawing them in closer.

 

Jake speaks with his hands and Fitz with his voice, so it only makes sense when it’s Fitz’s voice dancing down the officer’s spine as he leans in to whisper in his ear.

 

“You think I don’t count every day it’s been since I last saw you?”

 

Jake groans and his hips buck into Fitz’s again.  Fitz lowers his mouth to one of the scars over his ribs to trace it with his tongue, eliciting a sharp hiss.

 

“You always _were_ thorough, Mr President,” he finally grows impatient and slides a hand down Fitz’s pants, feeling quivering stomach and then--then Fitz’s cock, straining against him and the pressure of his pants which Jake hadn’t bothered to undo.  The president rolls his hips and offers a groan in reply before his jaw slackens.

 

“No.” Fitz fumbles with Jake’s belt, practiced fingers without even a _hint_ of a shake. “Say my name.”

 

“Only if you give me what I want,” Jake mutters hotly against his mouth before crushing it to Fitz’s, finally undoing his pants and taking his cock in both hands; Fitz groans into his mouth and bites down hard on Jake’s lower lip.

 

“And that is…?”

 

His voice has the shake his hands didn’t, especially when Jake slides a thumb over the tip of him while the other hand strokes slowly.  Jake laughs softly while Fitz roughly shoves Jake’s pants down his thighs, down to his knees, leaving Jake’s grip for the smallest of seconds.

 

“Front pocket of the jacket,” Jake mutters and Fitz looks at the floor, where the jacket with the missing button now lies, and back at Jake.

 

“ _You_ get it, Ballard.”

 

“If you want, I can just go--”

 

“I’m the leader of the free world,” Fitz growls, impatience lining his words. “You’re subject to my orders.”

 

Jake’s gaze holds his before he sinks to his knees.  Instead of reaching for the jacket just yet, he takes Fitz’s cock in one hand, the other sliding around to hold the back of his right thigh for support.  Before he can order him anything, Jake slides his tongue flat against Fitz’s dick, catching the slickness that had gathered there.

 

“ _Ohhh_ , Jake--” Fitz groans, a hand fastening in Jake’s hair, fingers twining around short brown locks.  “You always were the better soldier.”

 

Jake can’t resist a smirk and a hum in response before he takes more of Fitz in his mouth, tongue swirling in random patterns as he pushes more each time--making sure to go against Fitz’s thrusts.  He allows for the lightest drag of teeth over Fitz before finally taking in all of him.

 

Fitz’s groans and sighs and Jake’s name rolling off his tongue so easily, unbiddingly, makes Jake’s blood boil, makes him feel the twisting knife in the pit of his stomach so vividly.  His own erection strains and aches and though he’s a patient man, he’s not _that_ patient, and pulls his mouth away with a slight _pop_ to a particularly frustrated, demanding hiss of “ _Jake_.”

 

“Doubt we have much time,” Jake retorts as he reaches into the front pocket of the jacket to retrieve a tiny bottle. “You’re a busy man, free leader of the world and all that shit.”

 

A breathy chuckle slips out of Fitz, and Jake arches an eyebrow up at him before sliding his now-slick hand around Fitz’s cock.

 

“Make yourself ready for me,” he growls, and Jake smirks.

 

“For a president, you sure are lazy.”

 

“Shut the fuck up and _do it_.”

 

Jake sighs, slathering more over his hand before maneuvering his pants down to his ankles, then off, because that would be inconvenient as hell.  He parts his knees and slides a finger inside himself, eyes fluttering shut, then eyebrows furrowing as he added a second.  A heavy sigh pushes out of him, shoved out of his lungs by imagining Fitz inside him instead of this.

 

“F-Fitz,” he huffs and swirls his hips back and forth, his other hand sliding to grip his own dick, stroking in time to his fingers.  His pace quickens as he adds a third and his head falls forward, but his eyes remained locked on the man still standing. “Fitz, I want you…”

 

“Me too,” he groans, “so stand up.”

 

Jake does as he’s told and rises to his feet (no snark this time because _dammit_ , he’s getting _really_ impatient and his fear of someone walking in with some kinda emergency is growing louder in his ear and he’d rather just think about nothing but how good Fitz feels inside him).

 

Fitz grabs Jake with a hand at the small of his back and brings him forward enough to press his mouth hungrily against Jake’s, tongue sliding even as they slide against each other, shudders ripping through them both.  Before Jake can do anything (to be fair, he doesn’t try much), he’s maneuvered around by Fitz’s rough grip and pushed down by the back of the neck to lose his balance over the desk.  He props himself up by the elbows, shooting a glare over his shoulder.

 

(This is a favorite spot for Fitz and he’s just glad he knows the secret to managing _his_ secrets.)

 

Fitz laughs and leans down, mouth hot against his ear.

 

“I missed this, Jake.”

 

A hand slides up his side, goosebumps following the trail of his touch.  He finally reaches around and grips Jake’s cock, Fitz’s own pressing just the tip inside Jake, melting him from that very spot.  He coughs to cover up a whimper and feels the thrill of satisfaction race through him as Fitz lets out a shaky groan.

 

“That’s awfully sweet of ya,” Jake nearly _whines_ from it all, pushing his hips back to take more of him in. “Not much time for the ca-catching up we have to do.”

 

He loses himself for a split second as Fitz finally grabs him by the hips and pushes himself to the hilt, stilling his hips for a torturously long moment.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jake sighs, “are you going to fuck me, or what?”

 

Fitz groans and finally bows over Jake, mouthing the back of his neck as he starts swiveling his hips finally-- _finally_ \--pumping in and out of Jake.  The rhythm and friction of him stretching Jake and the heat rolling off him and his tongue on him is enough to make him writhe and gasp for more.

 

“D- _deeper_ , Fitz,” _he’s_ issuing the commands now, and like the obedient commander-in-chief he can _sometimes_ be, his counterpart lifts one of his legs, pushing his knee onto the desktop.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Fitz whispers, “god, _Jake_ , you feel _incredible_.”

 

“What you’ve always s-said,” Jake gasps as Fitz’s grip on him tightens and strokes against the rhythm of his hips--returning the favor from last time.

 

The rhythm itself is somewhat erratic, his practice all gone it seems--or just when it comes to Jake.  Jake feels the pressure building in his lower back, creeping up his spine, sliding down to his stomach like strong alcohol and he knows it won’t be long now--convenient, certainly, for their strict timeframe.

 

“Mm--aahh--I-I’m not--” Jake gasps, eyes squeezing shut, but moans as Fitz’s hand tightens in his hair and jerks his head back.  He squeezes Jake tighter and Jake squeezes _him_ tighter, and now there’s no rhythm at all and Jake’s muttering all kinds of things while Fitz bites at his shoulders and strong back and then he’s hissing in Jake’s ear, “Come for me, _now_ ,” and it’s all over--

 

Stars explode in front of his wide, staring green eyes, as he comes all over Fitz’s hand; Fitz releases the grip on his hair but keeps his hand on Jake as his hips continue their erratic dance, and Jake is still squeezing uncontrollably around him, hips bucking as he rides his orgasm out to the fullest.  It isn’t long before Fitz moans, “ _Jake--p-please_ ,” and with a final twitch, fills Jake, their nerve endings on fire as he pumps and pumps and finally stops, breath heavy as his chest rests against Jake’s back.

 

Then Jake shifts and Fitz clears his throat, pulling away from him.  When he slips out of Jake he can’t help but groan; despite all his specialized intelligence officer training that had far superseded their Navy training, he couldn’t control himself there.

 

He wipes himself off as Fitz does the same before pushing his hair back into some semblance of place, curls sticking to his forehead.  Jake slips easily back into uniform and grabs the rogue button off the floor before clearing his throat and finally looking at Fitz.  His blue eyes bore into Jake’s green and then flicker back to Jake’s mouth briefly.

 

“Keep an eye on her.” Fitz finally says, and Jake straightens fully, nodding curtly to him.  All business--nothing’s changed after all this time.  It’s strangely comforting.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“You’re dismissed.”

 

“Sir,” Jake says as he’s almost reached the door, turning back around.  A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Looks like you’ll have to start counting the days again.”


End file.
